Some bands speak to your soul, some to your heart, and some to your crotch. Pints on the other hand, as their name may suggest, speak to your liver, and they mainly tell it to shut the fuck up and get to work. The aural equivalent of a friendly terrace fight in a Wetherspoons, the band have been battering their way through the UK punk scene like a gang of pissed gorillas for a few years now, but while everyone was focused on how much fun they were having, little did we realise they were also getting pretty damn good at writing songs too. 2013’s ‘Drinking, Smoking, Gambling’ had some undeniably brilliant moments on it, in particular ‘Payday’ and ‘Holsten Pillz’, but they were standouts in an otherwise ramshackle bag of 40 second grunts. 2016’s imaginatively titled follow up, ‘Still Drinking, Still Smoking, Still Gambling’, puts the tins down for just five seconds to trim the fat and give you only the shotgunned money shots – three perfectly formed, perfectly balanced, perfectly grotty punk songs the way punk used to be, the way punk should be, and the way only true punk can be – footloose, fancy-free, and absolutely shitfaced. If you can’t find joy in the razor-sharp riffs of the title track, or the lyrics of ‘Weekend Warrior’, whether you are one or not, then you may as well give up now. Essential listening for fans of The Smoking Hearts, Anti-Nowhere League and drinking till you piss someone else’s pants and your ears bleed Special Brew. Too much fun. Everyone should wish for mates like Pints.